Five times Arthur cared for someone
by All Galimatias
Summary: And one time he was cared for.  Mostly lacking in pairing, lots of Arthur but not Arthur!centric, fluff and paternal/maternal ness.
1. Chapter 1

"Gilbert, for the love of all things sacred, get the hell out of my room," Ludwig groaned into his hands. The German nation was sitting at the desk of his hotel room, paper and pens splayed out in front of him, his laptop switched on and pushed to one side, connected to a printer that was spraying out paper even as he sent his brother a nasty glare.

Gilbert was far too used to having nasty glares sent his way for it to have any effect; the albino Prussian merely cackled and then leapt backwards onto Ludwig's bed, almost bouncing straight of it.

"West, I'm bored! If you want me to leave, do something interesting! Or organise something interesting to happen; we could go out. We're in Germany for the first meeting in about a million years, the only place on the planet that doesn't have routinely shitty beer. We have to make the most of it, and you're locked up in a stuffy room doing stuffy reports that could wait until this stuffy meeting is over."

"It's_ important_ work that I need to have finished by the end of the week-"

"It's Monday!"

"-And there's too much happening at the moment for me to just leave and expect it all to write itself," Ludwig snapped over the protest.

"We-est," Gilbert whined plaintively, entirely not at all dissuaded.

Ludwig moaned and planted his head onto the desk. "Gilbert, in the most polite and respectful way I can phrase this to you; _verpiss dich_."

"We-est," Gilbert repeated, in the exact same drawn-out tone.

An expensive and suitably heavy fountain pen rocketed across the room and hit Gilbert on the ear, sending him crashing to the ground as he reflexively flinched away, screaming out curses.

The door opened and a familiar Englishman appeared in the doorway. Arthur gave Ludwig a sympathetic and long-suffering look usually shared between any two people with prolonged contact with Gilbert.

"Hey, tosser, your mates are waiting for you in the foyer."

The wailing ceased immediately, Gilbert's head appearing from the other side of the bed. "Francis and Antonio?"

"No, Romano and Roderich, yes the flipping Frog and Antonio."

Gilbert's face split into a maniacal grin as he leapt to his feet. "What do they want?"

"To go and get pissed I imagine-" Arthur didn't get chance to continue as Gilbert shoved past him and hurtled down the corridor.

Ludwig listened to the surprised yelps of the nations lingering outside their rooms that had just been run over by the Prussian hurricane with surprising nonchalance.

"Not even a thank you," Arthur said mildly, sitting down on the bed before he turned to Ludwig, who'd put his face back against the wood of the desk. "You don't look happy."

"I'm not," Ludwig said into the desk. "I hate my brother."

"I hate most of mine. At least you've only got one bastard to deal with," Arthur said with something like cheerfulness.

"Thank you for your sympathy, Arthur."

"I got rid of your brother, didn't I? Francis and Antonio are going to be so pleased when he drags them off on a drinking spree."

"What?"

"Well, he will. They didn't think up the idea, this time, but I'm sure they'll appreciate it."

Ludwig allowed himself a grin, and sat up. "Well, I'm grateful for that, in any case. I might actually be able to do this now," he gestured at the work in front of him.

Arthur's smug expression faded. "Or you could sleep," he suggested. "Not even you can go without sleep, especially when you're the only thing holding these damn meets together."

"I appreciate the concern, but this can't be put off."

"It's not going to be done to the best of your ability if you're knackered while you're doing it," Arthur pointed out.

"It won't be done at all if I don't finish it now."

"Ludwig, it's only eleven pm," Arthur said coaxingly. "If you go to bed now, you can wake up at seven or eight, with a good few hours sleep behind you, and do it for three hours in the morning. The meeting tomorrow doesn't start until eleven."

The idea sounded wonderfully tempting. "That's not practical, Arthur, if I don't wake up on time it'll be a whole three hours wasted."

The other nation rolled his eyes. "Sleep is not a waste of time."

"That's rather hypocritical, isn't it?" Arthur's tendency to miss out on sleep and meals when he was working was as well-known as his own work ethic. It rather made Ludwig wonder why Arthur was here at all, when he had work of his own to be getting on with. Or why Arthur was concerned about his sleeping habits at all.

"That's irrelevant," Arthur said dismissively. "Go to bed now and I'll wake you up tomorrow."

At the mention of bed Ludwig yawned despite himself, and felt his whole body become instantly more tired as consequence.

"You're shattered. Go to bed." Now the advice sounded more like an order.

"Fine," Ludwig said grudgingly.

"Get changed, I'll be back in a minute and if you've not switched that computer off I'll throw it out the window," Arthur said threateningly, before he disappeared out the room.

Ludwig gave the door a bemused look, wondering exactly how he'd been talked into going to sleep before three o'clock in the morning, by Arthur of all people. Slowly, he got changed and then saved all the work on his computer before switching it off. He was just sliding into the bed that he was sure felt more comfortable than it was when Arthur returned, holding a cup of something.

"Drink," he instructed, passing over what Ludwig correctly identified as tea. "Then go to sleep."

"Caffeine before bed?"

"You wanted warm milk and biscuits?"

Ludwig dutifully took a sip of the tea. Smirking, Arthur moved to the desk and started stacking up the papers. He loitered in the room until Ludwig had finished the drink, taking the cup back as he started to walk towards the door.

"Rest in the knowledge that your brother has probably been thrown out of two pubs by now and is busy terrorising the rest of the neighbourhood," Arthur grinned, flicking off the lights.

The absurdity of the situation began to catch up with Ludwig's obviously sleep-deprived mind. "Not that I don't appreciate it, Arthur, but why on earth are you doing this?"

The Englishman paused. "No idea. Probably because you really are the sole thing that keeps the meetings organised and prevents us from all being systematically banned from any country that's not our own."

Something about the statement didn't ring true; or rather it did but only as a fact, as opposed to the real reason.

Before he could voice his doubts, Arthur spoke again, his tone teasing and amused. "Sleep tight; don't let the bed bugs bite."

"I'm not an infant, Arthur-"

The door closed before he could finish his protest.


	2. Chapter 2

It was not as if Lilli had never been alone. Indeed, before Vash had taken her in she had been alone quite a lot of the time; it wasn't a time she remembered happily. But the point was that since her brother had started taking care of her, she had become very unused to being alone. She adored her brother and he did her, and consequently she was never far from his sight or company.

However, she was now in the situation of being without her constant escort. She wasn't sure what had happened, but somehow between the meeting room and the pavement outside they'd been separated. Her phone was in her hotel room, and she was standing in cold English drizzle outside the hall the meeting had been hosted in with absolutely no idea what to do now, apart from try to find her brother.

Half-heartedly, she wandered down the street and looked around but couldn't see any sign of Vash. She walked back to the building, only to find it locked. By this point all the other nations had gone, presumably back to the hotel or to walk about the city. Lilli hovered around in the entrance for a few minutes longer, not sure what she was waiting for, before eventually traipsing off back down the street and trying to remember how to get back to her hotel.

It took her fifteen minutes to get completely lost. The rain was pressing down harder, and the people milling about were draining away into buildings and cars. Some people remained, fighting with umbrellas as they tried to stay dry. Lilli wrapped her arms around herself, wishing she'd brought a coat.

Now at a loss of what to do, soaking wet and cold, Lilli cast her eyes around again, seeking a familiar face. Her brother would be best, but Elizaveta or Ludwig would be good or even Gilbert or Roderich, who her brother told her not to speak with, but she got on with fairly well. Suddenly the rain stopped.

Confused, Lilli looked up; her eyes met a black umbrella. She turned round and met a pair of bright green eyes, not exactly familiar but recognisable enough to bring a wave of relief.

"England," she said tone thankful, automatically using his title as a nation as they did in meetings, more respectful than using his human name.

"Arthur," he corrected with a small smile. "What on earth are you doing wandering around in the rain? Where's Switzerland?"

"I don't know," she replied, suddenly feeling very small and bordering on tearful. Obviously this was evident in her face, as Arthur frowned.

"It's okay, we can find him. The hotel isn't far from here, though you're going in the wrong direction."

Lilli groaned, one hand coming up to her face to cover her eyes.

"Don't worry. Do you want to call your brother?" Arthur said, voice reassuring.

"Yes please," Lilli said quickly, taking the offered phone as if it were a life line. Scrolling through Arthur's contacts, she selected her brother's number and pressed the phone to her ear. Her heart sank as her call went through to voicemail.

"Tell him that you're five streets away from the hotel at FireSide café," Arthur prompted. Lilli relayed the message into the phone, adding a few slightly panicked pleas for her brother to call her and come and find her as soon as he could.

"Better?" Arthur asked, sounding sympathetic. Lilli nodded, moving slightly closer to the warmer- dryer- Arthur.

"Come on, we should get inside," Arthur said, noticing this. "Vash'll come running as soon as he gets your message, or we can walk back when the rain lets up a bit, okay?"

Murmuring her approval, Lilli allowed herself to be led towards the café, reassured by the knowledge that her brother would soon know where she was.

Warm air hit her as she walked into the café, accompanied by conversation and delicious smells.

"Lovely weather, isn't it?" a woman behind the counter said cheerfully, giving both nations a welcoming smile.

"Oh yes, excellent," Arthur replied in the same tone, steering Lilli towards a free table. The menu was propped up between the salt and pepper, and the English nation pulled it free and passed it to Lilli.

"I don't have any of your money with me," she realised as her eyes met the prices. "No pounds."

"Don't worry, it's fine."

Lilli shook her head and Arthur gave her a stern look. "If you're worried about charity, I'll make your brother pay for it when he comes."

"Vash wouldn't do that," Lilli said, a small amused smile tugging up her lips.

"Well, then that's his fault not yours," Arthur pointed out. "So, hot chocolate? I can recommend the lemon cake too."

"Okay, thank you," Lilli said sincerely, but still feeling a little awkward.

A waitress realised they were done and came over, taking Lilli's order- and Arthur's request for tea- on a notepad before disappearing off with the promise that they wouldn't need to wait long.

"So how did you end up giving your brother the slip?" Arthur said conversationally, eyes turning from the painting on the wall to Lilli.

"I didn't do it deliberately," she said quickly, looking scandalised. "He left and thought I was following him, and then I got lost-"

"Okay, it wasn't an accusation," Arthur said with a half-amused smile. "I'm just wondering why you decided to wander off on your own, rather than try and call someone."

"I left my phone at the hotel… I've not been on my own much before, I didn't know what to do."

Arthur made a thoughtful noise. "Well, advice for next time would be to try and remember how to get back to the hotel, rather than getting lost in the rain."

Lilli gave a self-deprecating smile. "I didn't need to think about it when we were walking here, Vash led the way. I've never needed to remember before."

"Therein is the problem. You shouldn't depend on your brother on things like that, or you'll end up in situations like these more often," Arthur reprimanded gently.

"I know. I-" She paused as the waitress reappeared, taking their two drinks and Lilli's cake from her tray and setting them down before leaving again.

"I won't again. Being lost in a rainy city isn't fun."

"Nothing wrong with my city," Arthur huffed, looking indignant.

Lilli giggled at his expression. "Nothing against your city, of course," she amended with a smile.

Arthur shook his head, picking up his drink and blowing on it before taking a sip. Following suit, Lilli speared a piece of cake onto the end of her fork and put into her mouth.

"This is delicious," she said in appreciation, slightly surprised.

"Don't sound so shocked. Just because nobody thinks _I _can cook…" Arthur trailed off with a frown.

"I've never tried your food," Lilli said innocently and Arthur perked up. "Maybe I could sometime?"

Arthur smiled brightly and for a moment looked much less like the grumpy nation she was used to. Lilli blinked. That was a point, actually. Usually Arthur made a point to be, in a word, unapproachable. Why had he gone out of his way to be nice to her?

"It's my country- I can't let you wander about in the rain." Lilli blushed as she realised that she'd voiced her thought aloud.

"I-"

"Lilli!"

She looked round and smiled as she saw her brother march towards her through the café.

"_Hallo_, brother," she said, quickly getting to her feet.

"Are you alright?" Vash responded, ignoring the pleasantry, his face and tone usually stoic, but Lilli had the privilege of being his little sister and she could tell he was inwardly frantic.

"I'm okay, Arthur found me," Lilli said reassuringly, placing a placating hand on Vash's shoulder.

Seemingly only just alerted to the fact that Arthur was still here, Vash looked over at the Englishman and gave him a sharp nod of thanks before turning straight back to his sister.

In between telling Vash exactly what had happened and trying to tell him that she was completely fine, Lilli registered Arthur quietly finishing his tea and paying the waitress when she reappeared.

"See you tomorrow then," he said politely, getting up.

Vash nodded again, and then paused. "Thank you for looking after Lilli," he said eventually.

"That's fine, though I really only bought her something to eat. She's clever enough to look after herself," Arthur said mildly, sending Lilli a smile. "Afternoon, both of you."

Lilli watched him go and picked up the rest of her cake with her fingers, eating it thoughtfully as her brother led her out the door.


	3. Chapter 3

Lovino sank down to the floor; his quiet whimpers interjected with rapid Italian swear words. His hand went up to his forehead and came back covered in blood.

"Fucking fantastic," he snarled, pushing himself up against the wall. What was even more so was how he'd managed to go about ripping a hole in his face- what sort of idiot managed to take out a chunk of their forehead by walking into the metal edge of an open kitchen cupboard. His brother or any one of the other stupid nations, not Lovino. Cursing his height, the idiot that left the door cupboard door open, and whichever bastard made hinges, Lovino struggled to pull himself up to his feet, trying to avoid bloodying everything with his hand.

To his disgust, the blood from his forehead started trailing into his eyes, contaminating his eye brows as it did so. It was too much; angry tears started welling up in Lovino's eyes the way they easily did.

"Not my day," he said, tone a combination of his usual rage and quiet dejection. There wasn't a mirror in the kitchen and he had absolutely no idea where the first aid kit was stored. He'd call his brother, but the bastard wouldn't be any use and would just burst into tears and in any case he'd probably bring the damn potato bastard with him. There was no way he was calling Antonio, or anyone else for that matter.

Trying to navigate the kitchen when he had his eyes closed to stop blood going into them was as difficult as he'd expected. He crashed into a table in the centre of the room and winded himself, then stubbed his toe as he tried to get past it. Eventually he managed to reach a roll of kitchen towel and used it to get rid of the blood on his eyelids, and then got another wad and pressing it against the cut of his forehead. Why did this sort of wound always bleed so much?

The kitchen door opened and Lovino promptly turned round, knowing he probably looked a complete mess and not trusting whatever nation had just come in not to laugh at him.

"Hello." The slightly bemused voice of Arthur Kirkland met his ears and he felt momentary relief it wasn't one the nations more likely to tease the hell out of him- Gilbert, more specifically. Not that Arthur couldn't be a vicious bastard when he felt like it…

"What are you doing in here?" Lovino snapped in response.

"The same thing you are, presumably. This building's self-catering between meetings, and I didn't get anything to drink earlier." The sound of water cascading from a tap into a metal kettle came from behind Lovino.

Unable to think of a proper retort to that Lovino remained silent as he tried to pull off more kitchen roll one-handed. For a few minutes there was relative quiet as Arthur's water boiled. After a while, Romano heard him pour the water into a cup and speak again.

"So what's the matter with you? You've been staring at that wall since I came in."

"None of your business," was the sharp reply and in the resulting pause he stifled the urge to turn around and see what Arthur was doing.

"Are you bleeding?"

Lovino let out a yelp of fright as Arthur appeared about two inches from the side of his face, scrutinising the red-stained paper he was holding to his forehead. He sprang back, cursing.

"Sorry," Arthur said absently, moving after him, eyes still on the hand holding up the kitchen roll. "What did you do?"

"Nothing, I'm fine," Lovino insisted. "Get lost."

Arthur completely ignored him, one pale hand going up to Lovino's tanned wrist and pulling it back, exposing the cut.

He winced. "That looks nasty."

"It hurts."

"I'm not surprised. How did you do it?"

Lovino scowled at him, but quickly relaxed his face again as his forehead scrunching up caused a burst of pain and renewed blood. He tugged his hand out of Arthur's grip and put the paper back against his head.

"Now will you get lost?" he complained as Arthur turned round. Arthur didn't respond this time either, tearing off some more kitchen paper and folding it into a square.

"Here," he offered and Lovino gave him a suspicious look before trading the fresh paper with the blood soaked first. Taking it delicately between two fingers, Arthur dropped it into the bin beneath the sink before looking back at Lovino who met his faintly concerned expression with a glare.

Arthur returned the expression with a stern look that made Lovino feel like a misbehaving child.

"Do you want me to just leave you covered in blood with a cut on your face, or do you want my help?"

Lovino looked away and Arthur shrugged. "Thought so."

Rolling his eyes, Lovino pulled the tissue away from his head to inspect it; it already had a sizeable stain. He hastily pressed it back against his head. Arthur open a cupboard at random, closed it, moved on to the next one and then made a victorious noise.

"Got it," he said, pulling a black plastic box marked 'first aid' from one of the shelves within. He opened it up and an array of plasters, bandages, creams and other medical supplies fell everywhere. Arthur started poking through it, giving Romano a quick look as he did so.

"Still hurting?"

"Not really," Lovino replied. It wasn't a total lie- it felt better than it did.

Arthur didn't look convinced but didn't comment, pulling the biggest plaster from the mess and setting it aside. The thing looked as though it would cover Lovino's whole forehead and he wondered how big the cut actually was.

"What are you doing?" he asked, watching Arthur run water of a towel he'd taken from a rail on the wall.

"Your face is covered in congealing blood, Romano," Arthur said patiently, moving towards him with a corner of the wet fabric raised, Lovino moving back in sync.

"Say still or I'll end up jabbing you in the eye," Arthur said in a tone that brooked no argument.

Lovino tried to stay still, but still ended up flinching as Arthur started efficiently wiping the blood away.

"Keep your hand where it is, or you'll get blood everywhere again- I don't think it's clotted properly yet," Arthur said when he'd finished. Lovino, feeling wonderfully clean, obediently kept the kitchen roll still while Arthur dropped the bloody towel in the sync, coming back with the plaster.

"Okay, you can move it," Arthur said, peeling the back of the plaster off. Lovino moved the paper away, giving it a grossed look and while he was distracted Arthur pressed the plaster against his head. Lovino batted his hands away and carefully pushed it more firmly against his head.

"Better?" Arthur said, eyes meeting Lovino's for the first time since he'd asked if Lovino would let him help.

"Yes," Lovino said grudgingly, fingers running over the smooth material of the plaster.

"Don't I get a thank you?" Arthur said with an innocence belied by his smirk.

"No," Lovino replied, half-tempted to throw the bloody kitchen roll at him, but decided on putting it in the bin instead it.

Arthur smiled slightly, lifting his shoulders in a badly done to sort of way before turning to pick up the tea that Lovino had forgotten about.

"Make sure you don't forget to wash your hands," Arthur reminded him as he moved towards the door. "And close the cupboard door so nobody else walks into it," he added, grinning at Lovino's expression.

The door closed behind him and Lovino pulled a face at it. "How did he know?" he complained to himself, moving to rinse his hands.

He turned off the tap and then reached up to close the cupboard. One hand went back to the plaster on his forehead and he gave the door another glance. Reluctantly and without really knowing why, he muttered his belated thanks, and then hastily left the kitchen.


	4. Chapter 4

Roderich felt, quite simply put, sick. His head felt as though his skull had been smashed open with a frozen banana, his brains scooped out with a rusty spoon and what remained of his head crammed with cotton wool. He contemplated this self-made description for a few seconds and wondered what illness he had that had finally driven him to the level of crazy that the likes of Gilbert were proud of.

He couldn't get comfortable either. While he desired nothing more than to curl up beneath a thick blanket and sleep, his skin was hot and sweaty and he over heated in seconds, wriggling around as he attempted in vain to ease his agitation. To his disgust, heaps of used tissues were beginning to form around his bin, but he couldn't summon up the energy to clear them away. He sat on his sofa with a cushion, silently wondering if his pride and dignity were a reasonable price for dunking his head in cold water in an effort to cool down.

To his horror, there was a knock at his front door. Warring with responsibility Roderich reluctantly made the decision to get up, dragging himself to his feet and through his house to open the door. Arguing voice greeted him as he walked through the hall and he silently asked what cruel fate had decided it would be wonderful to send both Arthur and Francis together to his sick bed.

"Having blazing sunshine is only useful if you get rain with it, you absolute moron."

"Alas, you have no use for your rain because it comes without sunshine three hundred and sixty four days of the year."

"So explain to me why all imy/i plants are healthy while your lot all die in your ridiculous weather unless you put sprinklers everywhere."

"That is a blatant lie, you ignorant-"

Roderich opened the door slowly, intending on flat out telling them to leave.

"Ah, he is alive," Francis said cheerfully, slipping round Roderich and into his house. "We were worried."

"He wasn't," Arthur said, having the manners to at least wait for Roderich to make a reluctantly welcoming gesture before walking after him.

"We have graced your presence on strict order from Ludwig," Francis said, ignoring Arthur. "Well, I have. Rosbif is merely in your presence, ungraceful and obtrusive."

"Why he thought sending both of us was a good idea is beyond me," Arthur said over Francis' insult.

It wasn't beyond Roderich, even in his sorry state; Ludwig evidently wanted rid of both of them, neither reasonable in this mood.

"I certainly didn't volunteer to trek across the continent," Francis sniffed. "It's your duty as a igentleman/i though isn't it Arthur? To fetch all the absent nations of your poorly organised meetings. Or are you finally admitting that you are an incompetent host?"

"England, please don't," Roderich said weakly as Arthur made to lunge at Francis. His hoarse voice finally alerted the two squabbling nations to the problem at hand.

"Is this why you've not been around for the past few days?" Francis asked as he and Arthur took in his worn appearance.

"Yes," Roderich said flatly, leaning back against the wall as he groped in his pocket for another tissue. "So I'd appreciate it if you would leave me to recuperate. Thank you coming."

Francis didn't look as though he was against this suggestion but Arthur shook his head, expression something like appalled.

"Oh no. I'm not getting straight back on a bloody plane," he said flatly, eyes searching Roderich's face. "And when did you last eat?" he added, voice slightly accusatory.

"Nothing like inviting yourself into someone else's home to come off as a polite and considerate person," Francis chirped, ducking away as Arthur threw a punch at his face.

"Piss off," the Englishman snapped, and then paused. "Actually, do. Leave."

"What?" Francis raised an eyebrow.

"Go buy things."

"Rosbif, I am good but I'm not a mind reader."

"God forbid. Go buy something to eat from that supermarket the taxi man almost crashed into on the way here."

"What?" that was Roderich, who was very efficiently ignored.

"Why?"

"Because I'm hungry and I'm sure you are, not that I care. And Austria evidently hasn't been out of the house in days. So shoo."

"No," Francis said, though he could see the logic. It was his duty to disagree with Arthur. "You go."

"I don't have any of your currency on me, and you two both share it. Go."

"No, afraid I'll need a better reason than just your convenience."

Arthur glared at him for a few seconds then said, slowly as if it physically pained him, "You're better at shopping. Now go."

"A compliment, and admittance of my superiority? You must be-" Francis was promptly manhandled out the door, leaving Arthur and Roderich alone in the hall.

"What just happened?" the Austrian said weakly, wondering when he'd completely lost control of the situation and ended up with both of the two most argumentative nations in the world staying for dinner.

"The force was disturbed," Arthur replied, still looking wounded. "Now, you, march."

"What?"

"Where you in your living room?" Arthur was prompting him back the way he'd come, and down onto his abandoned sofa. Roderich relaxed into instantly, confusion momentarily forgotten.

"You're really not very well, are you?" Arthur marvelled, looking around the usually immaculately kept room.

"No," Roderich replied, following his gaze to the piles of used tissues and feeling his face flush faintly with embarrassment.

Not replying, Arthur gave him another searching look, and then turned away. Roderich leant back and closed his eyes briefly. The effort of concentrating was making him feel worse. When he opened his eyes again, about half of the tissues were gone and Arthur was scooping up the remaining ones and dumping them into a bag, faintly grossed expression on his face.

"You don't have to do that-" Roderich protested rapidly, but Arthur sent him a flat look.

"Don't be ridiculous. If you keep all these lying about, then you'll find it harder to get over the virus."

"But I-"

"Austria, just lie down and stop worrying I'm going to charge you for cleaning your house."

"I was not," Roderich said indignantly. Arthur smirked at him, and then disappeared out of the room with the bag full of tissues.

Giving it up as both a bad job and not worth it, Roderich resisted the temptation to follow Arthur's instructions to lie down, remaining stubbornly sitting. He wasn't keen on the idea of showing himself to be so weakened by a common sickness… He'd survived the Great Plague of Vienna for God's sake.

But still… He was tired, and Arthur wasn't making any obvious signs he was coming back; with any luck, he'd be making himself a cup of tea and would spare Roderich's feelings by keeping in the kitchen to drink it. Cautiously, Roderich lay back down, head cushioned on the armrest. After a few moments, Roderich pulled a sheet over him too, hoping to manage a few seconds of being comfortable before he over-heated again, reaching for the box of tissues with one hand. He'd gotten through another five when Arthur came back in. By this point he was too comfortable to feel his dignity being sullied.

"Here," Arthur said, offering Roderich the pack of painkillers that had been sitting in his kitchen since yesterday, Roderich lacking the energy even to get up and fetch them, and a glass of water.

Prising himself to be a little more upright, Roderich popped two of the tablets from their packet without prompting and swallowed them with the water.

"Finish that," Arthur instructed, leaving the room again. Roderich groped for a tissue, and blew his nose for the thousandth time, then took a sip of his water. He promptly choked on it as he sneezed mid swallow.

Arthur reappeared. "You okay?"

Spluttering, Roderich managed to nod then downed his water quickly to prove it. Arthur smiled faintly, looking amused. Managing a glare Roderich put the glass on the floor next to the sofa and leant back again, closing his eyes. They snapped open again a few seconds as something cool and damp was placed on his forehead.

"Don't knock it off, dopey," Arthur said from the doorway as Roderich automatically went to sit up, hand reaching for the cloth. "It'll bring help bring your temperature down- you've got a bit of a fever."

"I don't need babying," Roderich said on principle, relishing in the coolness of the cloth.

"Of course not," Arthur said, tone amused. "Everyone says that," Roderich heard him add.

Before he could respond, Arthur spoke again. "Try and get some sleep when the painkillers kick in. You look terrible."

"Thank you."

"No problem." Roderich heard Arthur leave the room again, dimly wondering what he was doing. His brain didn't seem up for thinking anything more complicated than that. Feeling his mind quietly turning off, Roderich shut his eyes again for the final time and a few minutes later fell asleep.

* * *

><p>The first thing he registered when he woke up was that his headache had gone. The clarity of thought this gave him, when in comparison with how sluggish he'd been for the past few days, felt almost superhuman. Roderich sat up slowly, immensely grateful to the painkillers he'd consumed earlier when he experienced no head-rush. Looking around, he also noted with a faint sense of confusion that the room was cleaner. Somebody had finished clearing up the evidence of his sickness, as well as dusted every surface and swept the wooden floors.<p>

"Ah, you're awake."

Roderich looked round to see Francis grinning at him from the doorway, looking entirely too amused for his liking.

"I see that-" Francis began but was interrupted Arthur all but materialised behind him and grabbed his collar, dragging him back out the room and shoving him in the direction of the kitchen, scowling.

"Keep your gob shut you prat," he snapped, coming back into the room. "Are you feeling better?" he asked with a sort of blunt kindness, and Roderich blinked at the abrupt change of tone.

"Yes," he replied, looking around the room. "Did you-"

"Here," Arthur interrupted, passing him the painkillers and another glass of water. "You've been out for a couple of hours, so you can have another two."

Roderich raised an eyebrow at the interruption- it seemed a little uncharacteristically rude- but did not comment, taking the tablets without comment. As he moved the glass away from his face, he started as he felt Arthur's hand on his forehead, glancing at the man standing above him as he waited for his verdict.

"Much better," Arthur nodded, sounding satisfied. "Frog-"

Francis reappeared, still smirking at some private joke, holding a bowl of something hot on a tray, a little mountain of bread next to it..

"Et voila," the Frenchman said cheerfully, expertly nudging Arthur out of the way to set the tray on Roderich's lap. "Chicken soup, none of that nasty pre-made powder, do enjoy the fact that this incompetent rosbif had nothing to do with its creation."

Arthur smacked him round the back of the head, then neatly side stepped the return blow as he went back into the kitchen. The sounds of a kettle boiling were heard a few moments later.

Roderich turned back to his soup, taking a spoonful of it and blowing. He glanced at Francis, who was staring at him fixatedly, waiting for him to try some. Dutifully, Roderich took a sip from the spoon and then raised his eyebrow at the Frenchman. Apparently taking this as confirmation of his culinary prowess, Francis grinned smugly and sat down on the sofa next to him, to Roderich's silent displeasure.

"Enjoying your time off?" Francis asked cheerfully, shifting to lean against the armrest and bringing his knees up to his chest and linking his arms round them.

"Not particularly. Being ill is rarely fun," Roderich responded, taking another sip of the soup and then putting down his spoon to delicately rip the bread into small pieces.

Francis shrugged. "Not having to attend world meetings often is," he countered.

Making a non-committal noise, Roderich dipped his bread into the soup and took a bite. Francis seemed content to stay quiet; looking slightly preoccupied with whatever was still causing him amusement. Keeping a wary eye on him, Roderich got through three more pieces of bread before Arthur came back in, moving towards one of the arm chairs with his back to them, cup of tea in hand.

"You didn't make me a drink?" Francis said, unfolding from the sofa and standing up. "How rude."

"I did actually," Arthur admitted reluctantly, glancing round at them. If Roderich's eyes were not much mistaken, Arthur was very faintly red. "But if you want it, you have to go get it," he added quickly.

This was evidently too much for Francis, who had pounced forward and looped his arms round Arthur before Roderich could blink. Arthur's own arms were pinned to his side and he was largely occupied with keeping his hot drink from spilling everywhere, leaving him effectively powerless.

"You _are _feeling maternal aren't you, mon petit lapin?" Francis said gleefully, ignoring Arthur's screeched insults that were hitting a pitch bats were probably uncomfortable with. He twisted Arthur round so they were both facing Roderich, who was attempting to continue eating his soup like there weren't two madmen in his home.

"Isn't he cute, Austria?" Francis chirped alarmingly, grinning like a hyena.

Roderich gave him a very flat look, before contemplating Arthur's furious expression. It was distinctly tinged with embarrassment.

"He gets like this sometimes when people need mothering, don't you dear?" Francis continued, skilfully keeping the frantically wriggling Arthur locked in place. "You were at your best when you had lots of little colonies to raise. You could be so sweet, like when you were little-"

Arthur jerked his head back to smack into Francis', who let go of him with a yelp of pain. Quickly, Francis skittered away round the back of the sofa. With a degree of appreciation for Arthur's respect for his furniture, Roderich watched mildly as he carefully set the cup of tea down. Where he feeling just a little bit healthier he'd be making more of an effort to stop them, but with the lingering remains of his flu, he couldn't summon up the energy to care.

"Oh, a great and fierce empire," Francis was practically cackling, "who will mother any!"

Arthur vaulted over the sofa, managing not to jostle Roderich in the slightest. Letting out a yelp, Francis rocketed round to the other side, keeping them in stalemate.

"If only you were always like this," Francis lamented, "You'd be much more pleasant company. Everybody's mother, cleaning up their houses, making sure they get their sleep, bandaging injuries-"

Arthur darted round the sofa; Francis moved the opposite direction and continued his teasing. Roderich consumed another piece of soup laden bread, wondering when the pain killers would kick in.

"-Helping them get home, comforting them through unrequited crushes, making them packed lunch-"

Francis broke off again as Arthur did another impressive leap over the sofa. The Frenchman hurtled out of the room, down the corridor and out of the house, having decided that pushing Arthur further would be very bad for his health.

Making a quite shocking snarling noise, Arthur made for the door. He paused, almost reluctantly, and turned back to Roderich. By this point, the strong painkillers had taken hold and Roderich was past caring about his embarrassment or anything else. He'd worry about it tomorrow.

"I'll tell Hungary that you've been sick. I'm sure she'll drop round," Arthur said a little awkwardly. Roderich nodded, finishing off the soup.

"Thank Ludwig for his concern," he said politely, remembering who had sent Arthur and Francis here.

Arthur nodded. "See you when you're well again," he said, disappearing from the door way. A few seconds later, there was the sound of the door opening and shutting, then a yelp- apparently Francis hadn't gone too far- followed by a car alarm going off. Roderich identified it as not belonging to him, put the tray on the floor, curled back up on the sofa, and went back to sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Antonio… wasn't happy.

And he wasn't entirely sure why.

The unusually sombre man looked at his dark reflection in the window with a faintly puzzled look. On the other side of the glass, rain fell down in sheets rather than droplets and was the source of a thin vertical lake against the pane.

Maybe it was the weather. It was sunny at home.

But that didn't ring true, Antonio speculated, giving his shaky appearance a hard look. It wasn't quite a glare, because he knew that'd make him feel worse, but it was a more seriously melancholic look than his face was used too, so he let the expression drop.

He couldn't really remember the last time he'd felt like this. Genuinely unhappy. He remembered feeling _sad_, but that wasn't really the same. He couldn't really identify something having happened to make him properly sad, but he was still… discontent. While he could remember feeling discontent before he couldn't put a label on the date or cause. Lingering on past unpleasantries wasn't something that made sense to Antonio.

You see, unlike what some may think, Antonio was not stupid. He was both the possessor of intelligence and also common sense. The image of idiocy came from the fact he was painfully unobservant. But he had more than enough wisdom inside his head, because he had lived through far too many centuries and done and seen far too many things to be unchanged and naïve. While some would regard the knowledge of nations in a depressed light- some nations most definitely did- Antonio's wisdom prompted a different view point. The fact that he'd seen powers rise and fall, mistakes made and repeated and all manner of other things stashed away in history books didn't make him miserable. The prospect of humanity continuing to screw up wasn't the worst thing he could think of. Because they generally recognised their errors and at least attempted to rectify them. That progress was enough to keep Antonio's cheerful faith in the planet in general alive. Hope and regret were wonderful medicines, especially together.

So troubles of nations were not too troubling. And it wasn't some great tragedy. Something in his own private (-ish) little life, when he was Antonio rather than Spain, was bothering him. Hmm.

Antonio gave his reflection a hurt and accusing look. Questioning the watery image, asking why it wasn't fixing the problem or offering some solution. After a few more minutes his kicked puppy look made him feel bizarrely guilty and reproachful of himself, and from there he only spiralled into more confusion and frustration at not knowing what was wrong with himself. He worked himself up to the extent that he started to cry completely ignored and unnoticed tears.

Behind him the door creaked open, but Antonio was too busy being sad and confused that he didn't hear it. Indeed, he didn't notice Arthur until the Englishman's frowning reflection came into view besides his.

"This isn't about Gibraltar is it?" he asked, sounding both curious and irritated. "You can't have a hissy fit every time it comes up in a meeting."

Was it about Gibraltar? "No," Antonio replied, a little crease appearing on his forehead and earning him a surprised look from Arthur.

"Are you frowning?"

Antonio considered his reflection, tears drying up in his surprise. "I am," he said with a tone of faint awe. "Why do you do it all the time? It's making me feel even more sad than I am," he said accusingly.

Arthur snorted, but didn't answer the question. "If it's not that, then please don't tell me you're even more of a wuss than I thought and you're actually crying about the fight over the fishing policies."

"No, not that either," Antonio replied, completely missing the insult.

At the lack of further response, Arthur fell silent. Antonio glanced away from his still frowning face to the neutral expression on Arthur's. He had pretty good relations with Arthur at the moment, EU fishing policies and Gibraltar aside. But they didn't really talk as people, outside of meetings.

"So why are you sad then?" Arthur asked eventually, turning away from the window and moving to sit on the huge conference table. He pulled his bag off his shoulder and began rooting through it, with the air of someone merely occupying their hands.

"I don't know. Which is making me sadder," Antonio admitted.

"Okay," Arthur said, tone still neutral and entirely unperturbed. "So what do you think is a possible cause?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know that much, do you?"

"I do, but I don't know this," Antonio said, again oblivious to the dig and the blurred eye-roll Arthur's reflection gave.

"So what does your sadness feel like?"

"Not proper sadness," Antonio said thoughtfully. "Just a bit."

"Numb sadness?" Arthur suggested, and Antonio blinked.

"Numb sadness," he echoed. "Maybe."

Arthur nodded, pulling something out of his bag that Antonio couldn't identify. With absent curiosity, Antonio turned round to look at the nation sitting on the table; Arthur was practisedly unscrewing the lid of a flask.

"So you're experiencing apparently unprompted numb sadness," Arthur said, pressing down a red button at the top of the silver thermos.

"That isn't really sadness. Like unhappiness," Antonio added.

Raising an eyebrow, Arthur upturned the flask over its cup-shaped lid neatly catching the hot tea as it poured.

"Sadness is the same as unhappiness," he said flatly.

"It isn't. Sadness is like sickness and it can be cured and unhappiness is like always being sick and not knowing why and not being able to fix it ever."

Arthur set the flask on the table next to him, pressing the button again to seal it at the top.

"If you say so," he said with far more amiability than Antonio was used too. "Is this a recent thing?"

"Mm," Antonio said in agreement. "I was happy this morning, and now I'm not."

"Hmm," was the response, murmured round a sip of tea. "Who have you spoken too?"

"Lots of people. Francis, Gil, Ludwig," he counted them off on his fingers. "Elizaveta, Vash's little sister, Lovi…"

It was inaudible to his own ears, but the slight dip in his tone on the final syllable was as loud as anything to Arthur's well trained ears. Antonio blinked blankly as the blonde's startling emerald green eyes flashed up to meet his own warmer olive coloured ones.

"Oh?" Arthur said, tone layered with questions. "What were you discussing?"

"I can't remember," Antonio replied, forehead scrunching up slightly as he thought. "Oh! He'd hurt his head- there's a plaster on it. It looked like it hurt, so I asked him what he did, and then he shouted at me."

"Mm," Arthur said, prompting. "And?"

"That's it. Then he ran away."

"What? That's it?"

"Well, I said he should let me kiss it better and-"

"Right," Arthur interrupted. "He didn't tell you what he did to his head?"

"No…"

As they both lapsed back into silence, Antonio turned to look back at the window. His reflection gave him a wary smile. After a few seconds, Antonio put it out of its misery by giving it a reassuring bright smile back before he looked away. He felt better than he had a few minutes ago already. No doubt it was just talking about it that had helped… But if Arthur could actually give him a reason for his sombreness and a solution, that'd be all the better.

"So?" Antonio pressed as Arthur finished off the tea. It was impressive how fast he drank it, Antonio speculated, and how he could drink it when the lingering droplets were still so hot they were steaming.

"Doesn't that hurt?" he asked, side-tracked. "Drinking it like that?"

Arthur looked startled. "What? No, I, I've got a sore throat- I think I've caught something… Drinking it hot makes my throat feel better."

"Oh. So what do you think, anyway?"

"About your unhappiness?" Arthur replied. "I think it's got a very obvious cause."

"You do?"

"Yes. It's Romano."

"Lovi?" Antonio said, surprised. "But he's not done anything-"

"You told me all of three seconds ago he shouted at you and then ran off."

"Yes, but he does that all the time."

Arthur smiled slightly. "So, can you think of a difference in this occasion?"

At Antonio's blank look, Arthur sighed.

"You asked him a question that he didn't to answer. Antonio, everyone knows that Lovino has a right temper and getting any answer from him is like drawing water from a particularly unreasonable stone but you're still the one that eventually coaxes an answer from him."

"Really?"

"Yes, idiot," Arthur replied, giving an irritated huff that sent the strands of hair making up his fringe waving. "You and his brother. Nobody else has a hope in hell. But when you asked this time, he didn't even stick around long enough for you to ask twice, did he?"

"No…"

"That's what's bothering you; you don't know what's bothering him."

That made sense. How very strange.

"He used to have to tell me everything," Antonio speculated aloud. "When he was living in my house."

"And he hasn't had to for years. But today, for some reason, is the first time he's flat out refused to. It's probably not anything important, and likely not even something that'll continue, but it's thrown you. You've been introduced to the idea of not being able to get inside Romano's head, very belatedly. And you're already missing it."

"Huh." Antonio looked at his reflection again. "Now I am sad."

Arthur didn't say anything.

After a few more seconds, Antonio sighed loudly. "The centre of my chest feels heavy," he observed.

"That's called being miserable, Antonio."

"Why do you do it so much? Be miserable?"

Arthur opened his mouth to respond, probably sarcastically, but Antonio beat him to it. "Oh, is it your old colonies too?" he asked, blinking at Arthur. "Like Alfred? Do you miss them talking to you?"

"…I talk to him all the time. And the others."

"Yes, I know, but not properly. You practically lived for them at one point, everyone in Europe knows that. Me better than most," Antonio prompted, his own misery fading as he focused on Arthur.

Dark green eyes stared back at him. "What's your point?" Arthur asked, tone sullen and so similar to the one Antonio was used to hearing from Lovino that he couldn't help but smile.

"Silly…"

"I am not."

"Of course," Antonio said with another smile that faded quickly. "You never really got over the fact they all left, did you?"

It was strange, Arthur's expression in that moment. His mouth was in a limp line, not curved into a faked frown or smile, just limp and probably the most honest Antonio had ever seen them. But his eyes were smiling, in a way so amused and tired and sad. Like broken glass, transparent and distorted.

"Of course I have. I've had a long time to get used to the idea. I'm not stupid and I've lived to long to stay in the past when the present is changing so quickly. My colonies gaining independence? I knew it was coming when my people first started forging an empire. I saw Rome rise and fall, Antonio, I know how these things go. We all do. My family leaving me, that I got. What I never _got _was how to talk to them now, how to treat them when the balance of power changed. Rome disappeared, he never had to deal with that. I don't have a clue."

"…You really are awful with people, aren't you?" Antonio said after a few beats pause, smiling like an absolute fool and ruffling Arthur's hair.

The English nation yelped and fell off the table.

"Piss off," he snapped. "You utter-"

Antonio grabbed his hand as it came forward to him and pulled Arthur back to his feet. "It's not that difficult. You just need practise. You should go out more and not drink so much."

"I don't need your advice you prat."

"Well, you do otherwise you wouldn't have said anything," Antonio pointed out. "So do that, okay? Try smiling more. Have a compliment to normal speech to insults ratio and try and make sure they are at least equal, okay?"

"Sod off."

"Okay, but you're going to remember I said that next time you have a conversation with anybody," Antonio said cheerfully, and with that sentence insured Arthur would.

"I most certainly will not," Arthur replied stubbornly, hand brushing through his hair and making it a slightly different style of messy.

"You will too."

"Why are you giving me advice when Romano doesn't care about what you think anymore?"

"Oh," Antonio deflated instantly, expression resembling that of a kicked canine and becoming entirely distracted. Looking more than slightly guilty, Arthur sat back down on the table.

"Look, I don't think he doesn't care about you anymore."

"You don't? How can you know?"

"I just do. But if you want to check, there's a way you can do it."

"What?"

Arthur grinned, the expression a combination of someone who knew they were going to prompt chaos and someone attempting to look reassuring. It was interesting to witness.

"It's very simple. During tomorrow's meeting, you only need to wait until both Romano and a number of others are in the room and then do something that will get his attention."

"Okay… Like what?"

"I'll tell you in a moment. He'll react one of three ways. He'll either just stay where he is and basically not react, scream at you, or scream then leave the room. If he does either of the latter two, he definitely still cares about you. If he does the first… Well, poke him because he's probably in comatose, and that also means he cares about you."

"Sounds good," Antonio said with a pleased grin. "What do I have to do?"

"You just need to kiss somebody. Doesn't matter who. Probably not someone in a relationship, for diplomacy's sake."

"Why would that prove Lovi cares about me?"

"Trust me, it would."

"Worth a try, I guess… I could ask Francis or Gilbert if they think it's a good idea though-"

"Don't. Lovino would definitely hate you if either of those two got involved," Arthur threatened, expression intense.

"Okay," Antonio agreed quickly. "So, at the meeting, kiss somebody in front of Lovino then see what he does. Is that it?"

"You see no issue?"

"No?"

Arthur looked amused and nodded. "Then that's it."

"I can remember that," Antonio said with a confident nod.

"I have faith in you. Feeling better?"

"Yep," Antonio replied, bouncing off the table. "I'm going to go find Francis and Gilbert and not tell them that I have to kiss someone tomorrow."

"And don't tell them I spoke to you," Arthur added quickly.

"Why not?"

"Because… Just because."

"…Okay," Antonio agreed with a grin. "See you tomorrow," he said as he headed towards the door.

Arthur pushed himself off the table and gave him a slight wave. "Bye."

Opening the door and heading out into the corridor, Antonio took out his phone and started to dial in Francis' number. As he listened to it ring against his ear, he grinned at his reflection as he passed by a window and just registered the clear blue sky outside. As he left the building Francis picked up and he rapidly started talking to him as if they were already mid-way through the conversation, splashing cheerfully through the puddles.

Unbeknownst to him, someone was watching him carefully as he crossed the car park. From within a parked car a pair of bright blue eyes blinked behind jet black reflective sunglasses as they peered over an upside down newspaper. Alfred's eyes didn't leave Antonio's oblivious form until he drove away, and even then the American nation lingered, gaze turning thoughtfully to the meeting building and, more specifically, the second story window Arthur was looking out of.


	6. Chapter 6

"Alfred, stop fussing about," Arthur ordered, blowing his nose into a tissue. "I've got a cold, that it, and I-"

"You've lived through the plague, yada yada," Alfred said quickly, waving his hands about as they both started down the flight of stairs. The meeting had finished a few minutes ago, and they, along with a good few dozen irate others, had been too slow to get into the ten person lift.

"Don't be so dismissive," Arthur said annoyance clear in his tone.

"You shouldn't be in work when you're sick," Alfred pressed on regardless. "What do you always tell me when I'm sick?"

"Not to get your diseases all over my upholstery when you come over? That you should expect a faulty immune system when all you eat is that junk food?"

"Apart from that stuff," Alfred said easily, waving his hands about as he jumped the last two stairs to the third floor. "You always say to take a break, and then bring round disgusting medicine that's suppose to make me feel better."

"If you'd take it, it would make you better."

"Have you taken any?" Alfred demanded, folding his arms as he waited for Arthur to catch up.

"Yes," replied Arthur exasperatedly. "Alfred, if I couldn't work, I wouldn't be here."

"No, because even when you're practically dying from something you still come in, and then annoy everyone with your sickness and coughing everywhere before somebody makes you go home."

Arthur glared at him, and then quickly fumbled with another tissue to sneeze into.

"Thank you for your sympathy," he said when he'd finished.

"This is sympathy!" Alfred protested. "You're working yourself to hard!"

"Fine, then I appreciate your concern," Arthur said with a sigh, "But you're making a mountain out of a mole hill," he finished as they reached the second floor.

"Gangway!" somebody screamed two floors above them, followed by the sound of running feet and surprised shouts. They both ignored it.

"Just go home for a bit, Arthur, there's only two days left. Or," Alfred brightened. "You could come back to mine!"

Arthur looked at him sceptically. "How would that help? Sitting on a plane with recycled air for eight hours with a cold?"

"Arthu-r," Alfred whined. "You're being difficult!" They reached the second floor, and there was a second shout of, "Move!" that came too late for either of them to get out of the way. Mathias running full tilt down the stairs as if all hells demons were on his tail, crashed into Alfred, who barely swayed out of an armed Vash, who was apparently Mathias' pursuer, who instead hit Arthur. Alfred caught the hand rail, his assailant also managing to keep his balance, but Vash rebounded to the floor as Arthur went flying.

There was a sharp crack, and all hell broke loose.

"So, thirty seven nations walk into A & E…" Arthur said dryly, leg splinted up as he sat on his comfortable sofa, leg in a plaster and propped up on three stacked foot stools.

Alfred sniggered from where he was sprawled across the sofa, just as Francis dramatically flung open the door to Arthur's living room, letting a brief explosion of noise in for a few seconds before he kicked it closed again, balancing a tray and a box of tissues in his hands.

"Oh God," Arthur complained, scowling up at the ceiling.

"What goes around, Arthur," said Francis, irritatingly, throwing the box onto the sofa, just out of Arthur's reach from where he was anchored by his cast.

"You're a bastard." He didn't even try to reach for it.

"I made you food!"

"You didn't," someone else interrupted. It was Matthew, sitting down on the sofa and passing the tissues over; this was why Matthew was the nicest. "That was Romano."

The Canadian picked a chocolate from the box on the table absently, offering one to Arthur. The box was huge, almost two metres long, and had three layers of Swiss chocolate neatly stacked inside. It had been bestowed upon Arthur by a very pleased looking Lilli while he was still in hospital, and had been told that it was from Vash, who was either too embarrassed or too guilty to deliver it in person. They'd split the price, the female nation had said to Arthur excitedly, but in a confidential whisper, and it was the first time that Vash had bought anyone a gift, for whatever reason since the eighteen hundreds.

Arthur picked his favourite chocolate, of which there were many, a rum truffle.

"Romano?" Alfred said blankly as Arthur tilted his head to one side, considering Matthew's words. Certainly out of character for the largely self-serving Italian nation. Arthur felt a little bead of warmth inside his chest as he contemplated the potential motivation.

Francis shushed Matthew, depositing the tray on Arthur's lap. Definitely the work of one Italian or the other; the plate of pasta was freshly cooked, the sauce a delicious looking mix of herbs, tomato, and quite possibly egg. Arthur gave it a cautious look as he swallowed the rest of the chocolate and tried some. Somewhere around his fifteenth mouthful, he paused for breath long enough to comment;

"He cooks better than you, frog."

"Thanks," Lovino said over Francis' indignant response about Arthur not knowing good cooking if leapt down his heathen throat, smirking from the doorway. His brother was on his heels, waving over his shoulder.

"You're so lucky," he whined, smiling like a lunatic. "He never makes anything for me."

"Shut up, idiot," Lovino replied instinctively, elbowing his brother in the gut without turning round. "Enjoy it while it lasts," he said to Arthur, who was smiling ever so slightly. Lovino wheeled around and huffed back into the kitchen, the sound of at least a dozen nations buzzing around in the rest of Arthur's house briefly slipping back through the open door.

"You've got sauce all over your face," Francis said, on Arthur's lap in the three seconds it took the rest of the room's inhabitants to process the statement, wiping the red food stuff from around Arthur's mouth with one of the tissues.

"Geroff," Arthur said around the tissue, pinned to his seat as he ducked his head about, trying to escape.

Holding the saved bowl in one hand, Matthew gently pushed Francis out of Arthur's fiercely protected personal space.

"Dude, you know you're effectively exploiting an invalid, right?" Alfred said with a grin at Francis' answering smirk and Arthur's squawk of protest.

"Er," someone interrupted. All four of them looked round to see a highly awkward looking Ludwig and a rather unimpressed Roderich. Francis, the bastard, sniggered, and for the hundredth time Arthur wondered when the Frenchman had become so in the know of his life. Matthew raised an eyebrow as Ludwig made the motion to walk into the room, and then faltered, sticking in the safety of the doorway, Roderich still hovering behind him, silently scrutinising. Alfred, as ever unobservant of the behaviour of others, was cheerfully oblivious as he restrained Francis long enough to allow Arthur to get a good hit in. He had a broken leg after all, fair is fair.

"Exactly how many of you are there in my house?" Arthur demanded, back handing the Frenchman over the head without even thinking about it.

"About twenty," Alfred said after a considerate pause, letting a whining Francis go.

"Why?" was the exasperated response.

"How are you feeling?" Ludwig interrupted folding his arms as he awkwardly walked a little further forward into the room. Matthew stood up, and then kicked Alfred's leg so he gave up his seat too.

Letting out a derisive noise, Arthur shrugged his shoulders and his lips twisted up into a wry grin. "I'm coming down with a cold," he understated.

"Or you've got the flu," was the answering suggestion.

"…Maybe," Arthur acknowledged reluctantly. "I'm drugged up to my eyeballs though, so when all the medicine kicks in I should be fine-"

"I'm sure we could manage the removal of some of the people here," Roderich offered. "I doubt Gilbert's presence is at all beneficial to your health. You might be able to get some sleep?"

"If you could suggest to them that it might be more convenient for me for them to get out of my house, that'd be much appreciated." Arthur sighed. "I know most of them mean well, but I've got a lot to do if I'm going to be house bound."

"Or you could sleep," Alfred offered, squishing down between him and Francis.

"Alfred-"

"Sleep is not a waste of time," Ludwig said, accent lifting slightly with the air of someone quoting, smirk audible in his tone.

With a ridiculous amount of effort, Arthur prised one eye open. "Don't even go there," he warned ineffectively.

Ludwig almost grinned.

"I'm being ganged up on," Arthur complained.

"You're an invalid."

"That's not very PC, Alfred-"

"You look dreadful," Roderich interjected.

"Thank you," Arthur said evenly, but with a definite glare that he also wished he hadn't bothered with when his head ache intensified. He let the expression drop after a few stubborn seconds.

"I may have given you my cold," Roderich observed, looking faintly apologetic. Usually his characteristic aloofness didn't allow him to express that sort of consideration to anyone that wasn't Elizabeta.

"Mm."

"Elizabeta gave me some rather effective medication when she visited yesterday," Roderich said, and Arthur was uncannily reminded of Ludwig's embarrassed concern, and the oddly hopeful look that he'd been receiving a lot since he'd fallen down a flight of stairs. The Austrian nation offered a mostly filled bottle of a syrupy liquid that was sure to taste horrible but looked serious enough to do the job.

"You're free to have it," he offered. Arthur looked between both the rather out-of-their depth looking western nations and suppressed a smile that was threatening to creep through his illness-induced misery and experience told him would make the pair even more embarrassed.

"Thank you," he politely said, and then Roderich tossed him the bottle and Arthur moved automatically to catch it. He let out a pained yelp and cursed creatively as the motion tugged his leg off its perch and sending a spasm of pain through him, the rest of his body pulled after the heavy plaster.

Almost as if it was pre-planned, all the other nations in the room sprung into motion. Roderich, who was apologising in a combination of English and German, and Ludwig both moved to ease his leg back up, Francis reflexively caught the medicine in one hand as he steadied Arthur with the other, and Alfred, inexplicitly, took his hand.

Matthew, who been half way through moving forward, was cut off by the door swinging open and almost crashing into him.

"When did my living room become the M25," Arthur demanded, flushed bright red at his display of dependency. He accidently caught Francis' gaze, who smiled at him without connotation as he offered the bottle; Arthur took it automatically and quickly turned his thanks towards Ludwig and Roderich. Francis probably knew though, the sod always did.

The occupants of the room registered Antonio's arrival, followed as it was by an interested looking Gilbert and an especially irate Lovino. The pleased, heavily ignored, feeling of being looked after faded slightly in the wake of a degree of realisation. Arthur grinned as the sensation of a plan reaching its conclusion bloomed, a grin noted by Alfred. The latter felt his own lips twitch up into the gleeful smile of a man who'd just become spectator to an event he hadn't realised he needed to see. Alfred, Arthur thought, did know his delinquent side rather too well.

Antonio, oblivious, practically danced his way over to Roderich- there was a soft, inadvertent and somehow Italian noise of confusion that only Arthur noticed, drowned out as it was by a much louder Austrian yelp as Antonio grabbed Roderich.

"Hi," the Spaniard chirped, giving Arthur a grin that was probably supposed to be conspiratorial, before tipping Roderich backwards with a flourish and kissing him.

There was an almost non-existent pause. Then there was a delighted scream, almost entirely in sync with the wolf whistles and cat calls that erupted from the kitchen. Arthur noted, with amusement, that you could have flown a plane through the open mouths of fifty percent of the observing nations.

Arthur's gaze flicked between Antonio and the apparently comatose Roderich, the resignedly baffled Ludwig and then to Lovino. The Italian was frozen next to his brother, Feliciano grinning and applauding obliviously, an expression of disbelief and panic on his face.

Roderich finally managed to hold of himself enough to shove Antonio away from him and promptly did so, sending the Spaniard stumbling several feet back. He opened his mouth to start shouting, Antonio looking back at him like a particularly cheerful puppy, but was beaten to it.

Screaming something incoherent but probably very rude, Lovino shoved the much abused Matthew out of the way as he stormed towards Antonio. The latter turned away from Roderich, blinking as his grin widened.

"Hi Lovi-"

Lovino punched him, then grabbed his shirt collar and dragged him out of a comparatively unused door, the one that lead to Arthur's hallway. The cheering abruptly died, replaced with a few seconds of extremely speculative silence before somebody started sniggering.

"That was beautiful," Francis announced, wiping a pretend tear from his cheek.

"Woo!" Gilbert cheered as he raced out of the room after the abducted Spaniard, to rescue or laugh at him who knew, grabbing Francis' arm as he went.

In the next few seconds there was another brief lull as everyone considered what to do next. It was that moment that Arthur sneezed. Loudly.

Glaring at the eyes that all turned to him, Arthur fumbled with a tissue.

"Elizaveta," Ludwig said to the woman currently trying to sneak after Gilbert, "Could you please look after Roderich?"

Elizaveta obviously evaluated her two options, a camera practically flashing in her eyes, and then consented to go over to Roderich. Pulling the hugely ruffled Austrian out of the room, she began talking to him as one would a victim of PTSD.

Ludwig abruptly began clearing everyone out, for which Arthur was immensely grateful. With famed German efficiency, Arthur's house was relatively empty in fifteen minutes.

"You ever think we know a whole damn lot of crazy people?" Alfred observed, having coaxed Arthur into laying across the sofa with his head in the American nation's lap, broken leg positioned on a mountain of cushions.

"Craziness takes lessons from our beloved England," Francis said, in what he probably imagined was a sage way, having ducked away from the other three thirds of the bad touch trio as Ludwig had set about evicting them. Arthur struggled for a moment to pull a cushion out from behind his head and throw it at him; Alfred saved him the effort by taking the pillow and landing a direct hit on Francis' face without sitting up.

"Thank you," Arthur said demurely.

Francis didn't comment, pointedly settling down into the armchair and using the projectile to cushion his head, languidly splayed out over the armrests of the seat. Matthew's head was against the chair's side, facing the fire and occasionally prodding at it with the poker, looking peaceful. Relaxing as he hadn't done while the other nations were around- he'd always been the highly-strung variety of host, and it went against the grain to allow himself to be pandered to in his own house by guests- Arthur closed his eyes and let out a silent sigh.

Neither Francis nor Matthew noticed, but Alfred felt it and started to shift about.

"Are you okay? Sorry? Does your leg hurt?" he whispered, trying not to disturb the calm sleepiness in the air and not quite knowing how.

"Mm," Arthur said, pressing his head down into Alfred's legs without thinking to stop him getting up and keeping his eyes closed.

He felt Alfred still beneath him, and then the younger man's fingers gently start to card through his hair.

"Chocolate?" Alfred offered.

"Yes, but I can't move."

"Mattie?" pleaded Alfred lightly. There was the sound of shuffling, then the box being lifted from the coffee table and changing hands.

"Thank you, Matthew," Arthur murmured, and wasn't surprised a few moments later when the smooth texture of one of the sweets met his mouth. He parted his lips and let the chocolate drop into his mouth. It was a rum truffle.

"Thank you, Alfred."

For the first time in a while, Arthur didn't disguise the pleased smile that spread across his face. He could tell the other three had noticed, heard Francis' soft, sleepy laugh, and honestly didn't mind.

"Thank you very much."


End file.
